Loophole
by Emilinia-sama
Summary: "So long as there is life, there is hope." That was his philosophy. Yet when dreams come warning of his eminent demise, and the sky tears asunder, Mellan Hawke and Fenris must brave that which they fear most: separation. It's the only way to come back alive. M!HawkexFenris, mention of AmellxAlistair & LavellanxSolas Rating may change.
1. Part 1: A Box of Letters

disclaimer: I own the idea (I think), and NOTHING ELSE.

A/N: so this came about while I was playing Inquisition, and I thought, "My Hawke wouldn't just _die_." So I dug through the canon provided by the games, and this is my solution; the "loop in the hole," as Morrigan once eloquently put it.

Hope you like it!

* * *

Loophole

Part 1

The scent of fresh earth was all around, and the sun was warm against his back in contrast to the breeze that still carried a thought of winter's chill. Spring was just around the corner, Mellan knew, and the earth was fresh and loamy where he had his fingers buried in it. It was early morning still, but it was a long time since Mel woke any later than daybreak.

The sound of footsteps along the road made Mel look up, hoping for—but no, wrong elf, though Orana did come bearing groceries. Rabbit walked alongside her, holding her sculpted head high, two more grocery baskets strapped across her back. Mel stood up, brushing the dirt from his hands as he walked over to the 'women of the house,' as he called them. "Looks like you were successful," he beamed at the little elf-girl.

Orana gave as much of a curtsy as she could under the weight she carried. Brushing the last of the dirt off his hands, Mel took the heaviest bags from Orana and together they made their way up to the little cottage overlooking the small farm. Three years it had been since the Kirkwall's fall, since he'd taken the friends who would follow him and left the Free Marches. Now two years since he, Fenris, Rabbit, and Orana had established themselves on this little five-acre patch of farmland outside Amaranthine. Five acres of back breaking work, disgustingly early mornings, and _peace_.

Maker's blood, but Mel had missed that.

Once the groceries were unpacked, he and Orana went through the routine of storing and preserving and cooking all Orana and Rabbit had brought back with them. The bacon Orana immediately set to frying while she began mixing and kneading dough for that morning's bread. Mel took the rest of the meat to a small subterranean ice box, packing the meat in snow saved from the previous winter and just a touch of ice magic, while the vegetables sat untouched on the countertop for now.

The mage and elf worked in silence for the most part. Years though it had been since the move from Kirkwall to Amaranthine, Orana was still reluctant to converse overly much with Mel. Hawke knew the elf girl still saw him as "Master," no matter their displacement, so he kept his peace with her, merely helping her where he could. It was not the first time he'd thought so, but perhaps she would have been better off staying with Aveline in Kirkwall. Even so—

"Master, would you please fetch some eggs? I forgot to pick some up at market."

Hawke smirked. Even so, he knew without a doubt, he and Fenris would very likely have died one way or another without Orana's presence. Neither he nor his lover was much given to domesticity. Plus, for all that she was still cringe-worthily polite, Orana was becoming bolder than she once was. She actually let Mel pull his weight around the farm!

_Not much,_ Hawke mused, slipping out the door for the chicken coop around back, _but its home._

Best of all, Amaranthine was still an outpost for the Grey Wardens, and Carver often was sent on patrol through this region. He, The Commander of the Grey, and The Arlessa of Amaranthine—who it turned out, were cousins of theirs—often made it a point to come round, sometimes with the king himself, and almost always with work for Fenris, since it turned out that the former-Tevinter elf didn't know a hook from a handsaw. As such, most of the year, he took jobs for Arilde and Arlyn, usually as a bodyguard for the former whenever she headed to Denerim to "meet" with the King. The two were on such an excursion now—had been for several weeks, and were due back home any day now.

And Mel couldn't wait. He wanted his elf back. _Soon_. Though for more than just the obvious reasons; Mel's dreams had been restless lately, plagued with dark, nebulous shapes he couldn't quite make out and an overriding sense of hopelessness. It troubled him, more than he cared to admit, but he knew that once Fenris came back, the dreams would stop plaguing him, and he could get about with his life.

He had just come back inside with his little treasures when Rabbit perked her head up, and bounced her way to the door, barking happily. Mel looked up and hurriedly set his bounty down before moving to the window, hoping—yes, there! Four figures in the distance, two of which in Grey Warden armor, one canine, and one in a traveling cloak, the hood pulled up.

Hawke looked back at Orana. "I hope you made extra, Orie."

The girl nodded, a slightly smug smile touching her lips. "I anticipated we might have visitors today, Master," she said easily. She picked up the four eggs Mel had brought in, and proceeded to tell him they would need more.

It was just the excuse he needed. He took his chance, and flung open the door. Rabbit burst out first, though Hawke was close behind. At his entrance, one of the travelers—the one in the cloak, of course—quickened his own step. Mel's grin widened, his heart sped further, and he thickened his Fereldan accent as he called out, "Top o' the morning to ya, folks. To what do I owe the honor o' such _distinguished_ guests?"

He heard Carver groan thematically. Beside him, Arilde giggled behind a delicate hand, while Rabbit and Ari's mabari, Calenhad, sized one another up. By then, the cloaked figure was next to him, the pronged markings on his chin glowing faintly under the hood. Hawke's grin softened, though not in a way any but the hooded man before him would recognize. Still, Mel was a proper host and called out to his blood relatives, "I dun suppose any ya'll'd be inclined to stay for breakfast? I gots the little missus puttin' on tea, if ya'll like."

Arilde, like the proper lady she was, curtsied prettily and answered, "That sounds quite lovely, good ser and thank you for it. If we may?"

"My home is your home, ma'am." Blessing given and received, Carver and Ari made their way up the porch, both mabari at their sides.

A chuckle came from hooded man beside him, "Are you done ignoring me, Hawke?"

Mel sputtered, "I wasn't ignoring you! Just figured you didn't want 'em seeing me, ahem, _welcome_ you home."

"A fair judgment. And now that we're alone?"

Mel didn't dignify that with an answer; he simply threw back Fenris' hood and proceeded to liberally kiss the daylights out of his elf. A kiss that was met with just as much ferocity and _want_ as Hawke felt. It truly was a shame that the human body could not survive without oxygen. At least so far as Mel was concerned.

Still, when he pulled back, Fenris was smiling. And that was just as good as kissing him. With one last chaste kiss, Hawke whispered, "Welcome home, Snow," in his lover's pointed ear as he pulled him into an embrace.

"Happy to be home, Hawke," Fenris answered back; he wound his arms around his mage and flared just a little bit. Just enough to tingle across Mel's nerves.

Just enough to make him _shiver_.

"Trying to get me all hot and bothered before the game?"

"Would it work if I did?"

Mel laughed. "Probably…"

"Then I will make it up to you later."

"Holding you to that, Fen," Hawke kissed Fenris one last time, before tugging him towards the chicken coop. "C'mon and help me get some eggs so we can start."

* * *

Around the table, seven pairs of eyes sized each other up over a small pile of gold and silver. Mel watched his opponents carefully, looking for tells and weaknesses. Carver was still easiest to read, despite playing fairly often with his fellow Wardens now. For all that he had really, truly grown up, his baby brother was still an honest Fereldan, and tended to wear his emotions on his sleeve. Plus, it didn't matter how old Carver got, or how often Mel didn't see him; he was still his baby brother. He could tell when he was bluffing a mile away. Plus, he and Merrill still kept in contact; and if for any reason Mel couldn't read his brother, he'd simply tease him mercilessly about her, until his brother was flustered and blushing adorably, and once again easy to read.

As he was now, though, Carver had nothing. Too easy.

Arilde, now she was a tougher nut to crack. His cousin had been raised as he and Carver had never been: she was, at heart, an aristocrat. She and Lyn had been the progenitors of the Amell name and line, until their magic had announced itself and got them booted to the Fereldan Circle. Time there had only hardened both of them further, though in totally different ways. Arlyn was cold and shrewd, where Arilde was passionate and steady. When Lyn had a bad hand, he tended to clam up and completely ignore his cards. When Ari had a bad hand, she got this inscrutably _haughty_ look in her eye.

The look wasn't really there now, but her lips weren't tilted up in tiny pleased smile either, so she had _something_, just not enough to worry about.

The dogs played too of course, and Rabbit had never cured her tells, despite Varric laying them out for her. Her tail was wagging, which meant she had a decent to good hand. Calenhad, on the other hand had his lip pulled up in disgust, though he was trying to make it look like panting. Bad hand, then.

And finally there was Fenris. The elf's tells were small, really, since his usual expression was rather dour. But as Varric had pointed out years ago, Fenris had the luckiest hands Hawke had ever seen—_ooh, bad thoughts…don't go there, yet—_and tended to sneak in at the last to clean out the pot. Hawke didn't usually worry about his lover till near the end because of this, but never had Fenris ever escaped the mage's notice, even when he tried. As of this point in the game, the elf's eyes were turned down slightly in discontent, so he probably didn't have much either.

Mel's smile lit up the room. So long as no one called his own bluff, he had this round down pat. He called a raise and only Rabbit took him up on it.

"So, where's Lyn?" he asked casually. Better to keep conversation flowing, after all.

"The last time he contacted me, he was in the Western Approach," Ari replied, setting her hand down to fold.

Mel frowned, "I thought the Grey Commanders didn't usually leave their posts."

"They do not, but Arlyn has been…"Ari hesitated, biting the corner of her lip in thought, "He's been restless lately. Irritable. He has been digging through ancient Grey Warden lore lately, looking for something."

Carver raised his head at this. "Don't suppose you know what he's looking for?"

Arilde shook her head, her raven hair falling over her face, "No. My brother tells me little of what he does at any given time, I'm afraid."

Mel snorted, "Now why does that sound familiar?" to which Carver glared.

"Perhaps he is simply filling in. the Western Approach is another Grey Warden outpost, is it not?" Fenris suggested, tossing in another few coins as he did so. Mel looked at his lover in surprise. "Not like you to be optimistic," he commented. Fenris shrugged.

Mellan turned back to his cousin and smiled, "Well, whatever he's doing, I'm sure he'll turn out results of some sort. We Amells aren't known for doing things half-assed."

Ari chuckled, "True."

They continued on for a few more hands, talking and teasing and being together, until about early evening when Arilde stood up and announced that she had been away from Vigil's Keep too long, and had to be getting back, Carver and Calenhad standing with her. Orana also stood up to leave ("We're out of tea and cheese again."), and Rabbit was under strict rule to never let the elf-girl go into town alone, so after a round of goodbyes, and "See you later," Mel was left to just him and his elf.

He turned to Fenris with a sly grin, "Don't suppose you want to wash dishes or something?"

The elf snorted before grabbing the mage by the collar and dragging him to their room. "Or something."

* * *

_Green skies, silver sand, pools of water steaming and boiling, yet freezing to the touch._

Where am I?

_The world—the world? A world? No world?—around him was strange, alien, so vastly foreign to his senses that he wanted to close his eyes and will it away. It was wrong. But he was sure he'd been there before… he'd seen this place where mountains clawed rifts in the sky—no, ocean above, where stones gleamed with light, temples seemed carved of both fire and shadow, where deserts were randomly peppered with swamp land. Or were those swamps randomly peppered with deserts; he couldn't tell._

_He had been in this place where emotions and thoughts were tangible things..._

_The Fade._

_But it wasn't any part of the Fade he'd ever seen. The oceans above were dirty, polluted, and raging overhead, the swamps dead and haunted places, the mountains gleaming from the light of red lyrium._

_And fear…fear so real, so tangible he could cut it._

_And he did. Again. And again. And again._

_**Crack!**_

_**Whack!**_

_**Sching!**_

_But it didn't do any good…the fear kept coming in waves. Spiders, bees, his sister's death by an ogre, his brother wasting under the cursed Taint, his mother's trembling form clad in a stained wedding gown, Fenris betraying him, the Chantry exploding, Ander's betrayal, Sebastian's vow to end him and Kirkwall, Meredith's madness, Orsino's desperation, his friends turning their backs on him, one by one by one …_

_Things he hadn't known scared him, fears he had forgotten, all rushing back in crystal sharp detail. But he fought, he pushed forward. Because he had to. He had to find a way out…! He had to get back home…! He had to—he had to!_

_Then the end—_

Finally!

—_Blocked. _

_He could see the light before him. Or was it a woman? She was cut off just like he was, and by his side was a Warden—_Carver? Ari? Lyn? Stroud?_—and he knew they were important. And he was not. And it was the end._

_One way or another…_

* * *

Mellan shot up straight, the dream—nightmare?—still fresh, and raw, and bleeding behind his eyes. It had seemed so…real, so incredibly vivid that he could still smell the ocean and dessert and lyrium that had permeated the Fade in his dream. His fingers tingled as though he'd truly been casting his lightening spells, like he had been beating back enemies with his staff for real. And dread settled in his stomach as he thought.

_Was it a dream?_

Taking a breath, Mel sought to center himself. This was real: this little three-room hut where he, Fenris, and Orana lived now where he had a real garden outside, and a small shelf stacked high with books, or as many books as he and Fenris could get their hands on at least, and a kitchen that smelled like tea and spices and Orana's fresh-baked bread. This little hut that smelled like fresh, clean earth, and where it really snowed, and where 'Hawke' was nothing more than a name.

This little slice of peace; one that until he and Fenris had found it, neither had truly known.

Speaking of Fenris…Hawke glanced down at where the elf usually slept, and found the place empty.

_His friends turning their backs on him, one by one…_

Panic set in on the heels of the dream, and without thinking, Mellan stumbled up and out of bed, praying and hoping that Fenris was nearby, that he hadn't gone too far…that he hadn't left Hawke completely and irrevocably alone.

Without thought or consideration, Hawke slammed open the door and in an instant, the room was filled with blinding white light. It took a moment—the light fucking _hurt_—but Mel managed to finally squint past the light to the source, and he felt rather ashamed as there sat his elven lover, book in hand, hair a bed-ridden mess, and glaring at him in a bastard mix of surprise, irritation and alarm.

"Oh," Mellan groaned weakly and more than a little inanely, "There you are."

Adrenaline wasted and spent, Hawke's knees refused to stay straight, and he collapsed unceremoniously to the floor, burying his face in his hands. _Maker, what is wrong with me?_ The dread in his stomach refused to dissipate, and he feared he was going to be sick.

_The end, blocked. A shadow blocking the light—_

"Hawke?"

—_**They**__ were not expendable, but he __**was**__—_

Long, callused hands gripped his and pulled them back from his face. The light from his lover's markings was softer now, more a glow than a flash, and those eyes…

Those eyes broke Hawke's heart.

_One way or another…_

"Fen?" His voice did not just break; his cheeks were totally dry. He was not crying, no ser, he was not sitting on the floor of his little hut weeping like a damn little kid in front of Fenris. He was Mellan fucking Hawke, and he was not crying.

"Fen, I think I'm going to die."

* * *

**Thunk!**

Mellan sat at the table, his hands folded in front of himself as though he were praying.

**Thunk!**

Maybe he was.

**Thunk!**

He looked up and out the small window in the kitchen, not seeing anything but blue skies and far off sunlight. To his right, Orana busied herself making breakfast, trying to make herself as incongruous as possible. Rabbit sat next to Mel, her finely sculpted mabari head resting on Mel's knee in a small offer of comfort.

**Thunk!**

He wondered if he shouldn't go outside. Try to calm his irate elf…

**Thunk!**

…Then again, he preferred his heart in his chest and his head where it was.

Mellan sighed, running his hands through his uniformly short hair. Maker, poor Fenris; he really shouldn't have told him about his dream, even with their unspoken rule of honesty with each other. As if Fenris didn't worry about him enough already…

He looked over at the bookshelf situated against the wall. There's a box there, filled to bursting with letters. He never got letters anymore, but he had saved everything he'd ever gotten in Kirkwall. Or most of it, anyway. A quick trip over to the rickety shelf procured him the little tea tin full of precious memories. Letters from friends, from his brother after he'd survived the Joining, from random people he'd helped. Small testaments to a time when his name wasn't either spat upon or used as a battle cry.

Happier, if not simpler days.

Mellan looked over to the door once more, taking note of the silence outside. Getting up with his letter box still in hand, Hawke cracked open the front door to check on his elven lover.

Fenris stood before his not-so-little wood pile, sweat plastering his snowy hair against his head, and giving his caramel skin a glossy sheen. The lyrium still glowed faintly in whatever left over irritation Fenris was still desperately clinging to, but he didn't look angry (murderous) anymore.

Instead he just looked...defeated.

It was a feeling Hawke knew well.

**Bang!**

Mellan jumped as the tea tin full of letters fell nervelessly out of his hands, spilling sheets of parchment all over their tiny wooden porch. With a muttered curse, Hawke crouched down to scoop up his fallen letters. Distantly, he heard Fenris call out and make his way over to him, when one letter in particular caught his eye. Well, not the letter itself, but the signature at the end of the letter. The spelling was odd; which was a given since the name was elvish, despite Hawke remembering a distinctly human boy the name belonged to:

Feynriel.

The Dalish half-breed. The one he had sent first to the Circle, and later to Tevinter...

The somniari.

_"They can shape The Beyond, what you humans call The Fade, and their actions there can affect reality here."_

"Hawke."

"That's it...That's it!"

"Hawke!"

Turning, Mellan grabbed Fenris up in a hug, uncaring of the elf's protests as he spun them both in dizzying circles. The front door creaked as Orana poked her head out to see what all the fuss was about. The sense of dread that had veiled him since he awoke that morning had all but dissipated now in light of his inspiration.

Fenris pushed against Mel's sudden embrace. "Hawke, what has gotten into you?"

Hawke, however, would not be deterred, and between giddy, sloppy kisses he told Fenris, "I've…figured out…how to…cheat death."

* * *

So that was Part 1 of Loophole. This will follow Hawke and Fen primarily, and feature the Inquisitor and co. once Hawke gets to Skyhold. possibly.

Coming up: Part 2: Back to Kirkwall!

and don't forget, reviews make the world go round, and the words come faster!


	2. Part 2: The Breach in the Sky

ahem... I DEFY YOU, COPYRIGHT! dragon age is not mine; i just borrow it. and use it to hug fenris. alot.

So this is my attempt to be pretentious. Let me know if you like it!

Loophole

Part 2: The Breach in the Sky

The docks of Amaranthine's port were full to bursting as Mel stood there with Fenris and Orana, dressed in heavy winter cloaks. Fishermen hauled in their nets and their catches for their wives to process and sell; the whores on the docks whistled and waved at those who passed by—including him and Fenris; and the urchins that usually haunted the alleys of the market wandered about on skinny legs looking for scraps or valuables to sell. And beyond all the hustle and bustle were the boats and ships of varying sizes, and the ocean.

It was a well-known fact that Mellan Hawke was enamored of the ocean. He made no secret of his "unholy love" for the sea, and it was the starting point for his and Isabela's friendship. He also, however, had made no secret of his penchant for seasickness. It was the main reason he hadn't stayed on Isabela's ship after Kirkwall's fall for more than a few months, personal childhood dreams of being a pirate aside. It was also one of the reasons he wasn't looking forward to this personal voyage.

Only one, though.

_Maker, I never thought I'd be going back to the Marches…_

Beside him, Fenris stood tense and agitated, looking on along with Hawke at the many ships lining Amaranthine's port. Hawke knew he wasn't looking forward to…whatever was going to happen. To say his elf wasn't happy about this was an understatement fit to rival Anders' destruction of Kirkwall's Chantry. Not that Hawke was all that thrilled about going back to the City of Chains, either. _I wonder if Sebastian ever made good on his threats against Kirkwall…_ Then, of course, they would be on their way to Tevinter to find Feynriel, which would be a whole other can of worms too.

And in the meantime, Mel would have to endure his lover's silent treatment. Joy.

"You know I wouldn't ask this if I didn't think it would work, Fen."

"You _don't_, Hawke," Fenris growled, "You never do, honestly. You jumpheadlong into everything without looking, and you know as well as I that it has done you no favors. Besides which," Fenris continued before Hawke could edge in, "you would seek to find and convince a boy—whose acquaintance to you was no more than a handful of encounters, might I remind you—that you are to die based upon a _dream_ you had. Mage or no mage, Hawke, this is not a compelling argument from anyone."

Mel flinched. "You have a better idea?"

"Do not mind the workings of the Fade, Hawke. A dream is many times only that; to regard it as something more than that is foolish."

"Uh, hello? _Mage_."

Fenris turned to glower at Mel fully, "Of which your skills have never leant towards that of a seer's. Storm, Earth, Force, and Spirit Healing: those are your main skill sets, Hawke. Not future sight."

"Uhm." Both Mel and Fenris jumped as Orana spoke up beside them; the woman was uncannily good at going unnoticed. "If I may, I seem to recall Master talking about how he felt like something bad was going to happen just before Kirkwall fell. How he wished he could leave."

Hawke blinked; he was surprised that Orana remembered that considering he'd only had one conversation with Bodahn about wanting to leave with him and Sandal. Though, considering the way Orana often ghosted about everywhere on cat feet, she may have been privy to him talking to himself or Rabbit about how he felt stuck in the calm of a hurricane.

"If hindsight serves, the writing on the wall was enough of a giveaway that I'm still surprised he _didn't_." Fenris looked up at Hawke, desperation coloring his eyes and voice, "Please, Hawke, abandon this pursuit as folly. Nothing good will come of it, I know it."

Mel folded the elf in his arms, knowing that if he looked in those emerald depths a second longer, he would give in to his wishes, and be lost. Easy as that would be, giving in was something Mellan Hawke simply could not—_would not_ do. He remembered even now standing beside the elf as his sister had poured salt in the wounds cut open by Danarius. He remembered the ache in his chest at Fenris' declaration, his voice no more than a rough whisper, "_I am alone._" He remembered those as the words that had made him decide to give Fenris another chance with his heart, so deeply had Mel understood the sentiment, and all the emotions that played into it.

"_So long as there is life, Mellan, there is hope,"_ his father had told him in death, and they were words he had kept treasured forever and a day.

He would rather live the rest of his life begging Fenris' forgiveness, than die and leave him alone.

"I can't, Fen. I—"

Mel cut off as pain—searing, biting, screaming _pain_—flashed across his nerves. Involuntarily, he felt his mana spark and flare, and Fenris flinch in his arms in reaction. Fast as he could, he let go, and fell to the ground, trying to figure out what in the Maker's name was wrong _now_, and reign himself back in check—they were starting to draw a crowd.

But the problem wasn't him, not that he could tell, anyway. It felt like it was all around, and it ripped at his senses; his ears rang and popped, his tongue felt heavy and sedated, his nose tweaked and flared. And his magic, oh, it _ached_. It bit and raged and fought like a wounded animal, and it was Mel holding the leash that tethered it. It was Mel that it lashed out at.

It took what felt like a lifetime to will the pain into something manageable, something he could deal with if not ignore. He came back to find Fenris and Orana standing over him, the latter trying to cover him with her traveling cloak, as the former held him fast and glared at passerby who dared to see what all the fuss was about. Mel gasped, "Higher ground. We—we need to get to higher ground." He wasn't sure why he said the words as soon as they left his mouth.

Orana guffawed, "Master, you just—you just had a seizure! You can't possibly move in your condition!"

"Orana is right, Hawke. You need—"

"The sky!" The three companions looked over, startled, as a nearby child shouted, "Look, Da, up in the sky!" and pointed up towards the western sky. The three of them turned to see what precisely it was the child was looking at; the sight made them all turn pale.

The sky was rendered, the Fade warped but visible through the crack, bleeding into the world. The earth trembled in aftershocks of the explosion, huge chunks of stone flying into the air surrounding the fissure. The broken sky flashed and pulsed, and Hawke shivered at the feel of it. Beside him, Fenris twitched and growled as the energy released by the…the _breach_ in the sky, ran over the lyrium brands in his skin.

All around, the activity stilled to nothing. Voices that had once been shouting over the cacophony of noise fell suddenly silent; it felt suspiciously like the calm before a storm. In the hush, the people of Amaranthine turned to murmur in tense whispers, but none looked away from the hole in the sky.

The breach gave another rippling pulse, then like lightening, streaks of blinding energy raced across the sky in all directions.

One of which landed squarely in the middle of the Amaranthine market place.

Hawke felt another convulsion rip through him as the energy from the rift touched down—oh, Maker it _hurt_, but he fought through it. Trembling with effort, he launched up, stumbling a little along the way, and ran from the docks into the town square, Fenris, Orana, and Rabbit all hot on his heels (and all telling him to "slow the hell down").

He rounded the corner of the walk way, and wished immediately for his staff. Or any weapon, really. All around the town, apparitions of sloth and despair passed gloomily, and all the people there fell in exhaustion and depression. Just as quickly, demons of lithe and twisted form fell out of the rift, stalking through apathetic crowd on tree-like limbs, butchering them with foot-long talons.

"Hawke!"

Mel whipped around to see Fenris catch up, his hand on his sword, and his face drawn in a battle rage Mel hadn't seen since Kirkwall fell. Once more, Hawke cursed his foolishness for not bringing a weapon of some sort; he had never been the sort to stay in the back simply tossing spells like Anders or Merrill, and having to do so now when it was just him and Fenris…!

Still, Mel knew the role he would have to play in this fight, and he would support his lover in every way he could, or Void take him.

So he concentrated, breathed deeply, and called upon his contract, allowing the spirit access to his mana. In an instant, far faster than ever before, he felt the familiar shivery tingle that was the trade mark of his spirit flow out from within, and spilling into the physical realm. Healing was an art that took his concentration, but the feelings flowing from Mel were enough to fight back to weakening presence of the wraiths, and the townsfolk around him gasped as though waking from a deep sleep. Throwing about simple bolts of lightning in Fenris' support, Mel hurried over to the defenseless people, urging them up, yelling at them to run away.

Fenris, meanwhile, did his best to fight off the tall, limber demon, but he was hampered greatly by the lack of room. He was used to using large, sweeping movements to fight, and the crowds of dead and unmoving bodies made it hard to coordinate his movements. As well, unless he had a clear intent to kill, the elf didn't like using his markings to move through living beings; it took energy, for one, and he was also rather fearful of getting his feet stuck in a corpse. Still, he felt Hawke moving around him, and could hear the once dead-to-the-world crowd regain their senses, so he would have room to move in a moment, so long as the crowd didn't panic more than necessary.

Unfortunately, the twisted being did something Fenris didn't expect: it cheated.

Just before the elf could swing his sword, the demon disappeared into a portal at its feet, and the momentum threw Fenris off his feet. He collected himself as fast as he could, and looked around for where the beast had gone. He almost missed it when it reappeared—right behind Hawke.

"No!"

It was too late, however. Hawke had been occupied ushering the crowd away from the town square, and was taken off his feet in surprise as the creature sprung from the ground at his feet. He landed face first and Fenris could see blood gleam on the demon's talons as he stumbled up off the ground. The demon reared its talons back and time slowed in molasses as Fenris tried to make his way over to where Hawke lay. He wasn't going to make it…!

**Phew—thwack!**

The demon screeched as it reeled back, a single white-fletched arrow protruding from its forehead. The arrow was followed swiftly followed by burst of blindingly bright flame, and the demon fell to ash. Fenris glanced up at the square entrance to see the Grey Wardens spill into the city streets, Nathaniel Howe and Arilde Amell at the head.

The Arlessa strode forward in sharp, confident steps, her hands wrapped in flame, and her arms and torso covered in greaves made of solid rock and silverite plating. "Up top, Nathaniel," she called back to the dark haired archer. "I want eyes on everything. Ogren, take your men and scout for stragglers; bring all wounded to me. Go! I will not see this city razed again!"

Nathaniel nodded, though Arilde couldn't see it, and took several Warden Archers to the rooftops overlooking the square, whilst a dwarven Warden whose face Fenris couldn't make out through the helmet barked out orders to the warriors and dagger-bearing rogues. There were mages too, he saw, but not many, and they divided themselves one per group. He thought he might have seen a few recruits nudge each other and point their way, but by then Fenris had made it over to Hawke, and paid the Wardens no further thought.

Mel groaned as he stood, Fenris darting over to slip an arm under his mage's shoulders. "Maker that hurt." His voice took a distinctly whiny tone as he joked, "Dammit, Fen, why is everything out to hurt me today?" The elf didn't deign a response beyond a single sympathetic burst of lyrium.

"What the hell are you doing here, Mel?!" Mel and Fenris started as Carver came up to them, his Warden issue armor clanking from his long strides.

He recovered quickly and looked over at his baby brother, smiling wryly, "Always happy to see you too, Carv."

Carver ignored his brother's sarcasm—albeit with great difficulty. "It's not safe!"

"Obviously. But I was here _before_ it was unsafe. Not _all_ catastrophes are my fault, Carv."

"That's not what I—!"

"We were going to take ship," Fenris interjected. "Hawke is convinced he has need of going to Tevinter—"

"_What_?!"

"—But we only have coin to go the Free Marches," the elf finished, Mel glaring at him all the while. He met his glare steadily, but Mel had a hard time reading what was going on behind those green eyes.

"What the _fuck_ are you _thinking_?!" Carver shouted.

"_What is going on?"_

Carver flinched as Arilde made her way over to where the three stood. Mel looked around to see they were the only ones standing in the square-proper, though Nathaniel was still surveying from the rooftops. He turned his attention back to Arilde. She held her head high, and Mel straightened unconsciously at the look in her eyes. This was not his mild-mannered cousin who stopped by his little hut-come-farm for a few friendly rounds of cards; this was the Hero of Fereldan. She was beautiful and fierce, deadly sharp and utterly unamused.

"These _morons_ are talking about going back to the Free Marches," Carver explained ever so diplomatically.

Ari's eyes widened in disbelief as she looked from Carver to Mel. "You cannot be serious, Mellan," she said.

Mel grimaced at the use of his full name, though he transformed it quickly into a wry grin—which he aimed at Fenris. "You know, I just love how everyone's constantly questioning my sanity on this."

"Because it's—!"

There came a crackle and a whoosh as more demons spilled over into the world, along with more of the wraiths, pouring out like blood from the gaping dimensional hole. At the end of the procession stepped forth a Pride demon, beams of lightning sparking and flickering from the long, armored spikes that jutted up from his back and shoulders.

The beast's large, armored head swiveled around until eight beady little eyes narrowed in on the four companions, and its lips spread, teeth like daggers barred in a rictus grin.

"Maker," Carver breathed.

Mel glanced down at his elf. Fenris' skin was pale beneath his dark tan, and in his eyes shined a bastard mix of both fear and determination. Giving him a final squeeze and a wink, he bared his own weight once more, declaring, "And this conversation can wait until we get out of the city." He glanced over at Ari, "Assuming, of course, that everyone who could be evacuated has been?"

She looked to the rogue up top. He glanced down elsewhere briefly before making a series of gestures that Mel could make neither heads nor tails of, but that his cousin seemed to understand perfectly. He muttered something about "Bloody Wardens" that had Fenris quirking an eyebrow before Ari answered, "We must hold the demons off for another ten minutes."

Hawke scoffed, "Oh, is that all? Peachy."

"What? You feeling worn out over there, Mel?" Well, Carver seemed back up to snuff as jeered, and his hands began to glow from his Templar abilities.

"Why? Are you? You are getting up in years now, Carv."

Carver guffawed as he drew his sword. "_I'm_ getting old? What are you then?"

Silver-blue light engulfed Mel as he grinned, "_Experienced_."

"Enough." Mel's light was echoed as Fenris called upon the lyrium housed within his skin. "Hawke, defense and healing; Amell, offense and status. Carver, you and I against the larger demons. Howe! Take out the lesser demons!"

"Roger," comes Nathaniel's answer from somewhere above.

"Ten minutes, Fen!" Hawke shouted. "After that we close off the square and retreat."

The elf smirked under a fall of snowy hair. "Just try to keep up."

With that, the dance begins.

It is easy enough to keep up with Arilde and the two warriors before him, but Mel's magic aches still from the tear in the Veil, and it is difficult to ignore. Ignore it he does, however, and he focuses on effecting his friends as much as he tries to affect the opposition. Entropic magic had never been a strong suit of his, but he attempts to hold at least two Terrors in crushing prisons, while allowing Nathaniel and Arilde small bursts of speed to aid her spells and his arrows, and wrapping Fenris' and Carver's blades in lightening.

Arilde, he noted was doing much the same as he, though her fire had far more affect against the tree-like Terrors than his own attempts to hold them in place, and had his cousin been as…dramatically affected by the formation of the breach in the sky as Mel had been, she gave no sign of it. Her stoicism causes a furl of envious irritation to sprout in his breast, but much like his sore mana, he gave his pride no thought beyond such. Instead, he kept his eyes to his baby brother and his elven lover.

Carver doused the giant Pride demon with a Cleanse, dissipating the beast's lightning as he hacked at its kneecaps in an attempt to incapacitate it. But the demon's armor was not bested so easily, and Carver was a Warden, not a Templar; his Cleanse was not powerful enough to do more than disorient the beast. Blindly, clumsily, but with all the power of a catapult-flung boulder, the Pride demon flailed its arms out, knocking first Carver then Fenris solidly in the gut, and sending both warriors flying.

Mel cried out. He rushed to where Carver lay sprawled and dazed, erecting a shield over where Fenris fell simultaneously. He had a few seconds to spare as the Pride demon tripped over its feet landed on its ass in a way that in any other situation would have had Mel laughing. It had reminded him oddly of Sandal.

Quickly, he felt over his baby brother, checking for cracked ribs and strained or bruised tendons, healing any and all injuries he found. Soon as he was done, he cast a Rejuvenation spell before hauling Carver back on his feet. He glanced around the square to find the Pride demon the only monster left in the square, Nathaniel and Arilde having successfully driven off the others. He turned back to his brother. "Time's up," he told him, making sure his voice held no brook for argument.

He shoved his brother over to where his cousin stood, before sprinting over to where Fenris had fallen, shouting for Arilde to Petrify the Pride demon before it regained its senses, though he didn't check to see if she did.

He had eyes only for Fenris.

He at last made it to the elf's side and much like he had with his brother, his fingers traced over Fenris' prone form, searching for whatever injury had knocked him out. Concussion, broken ribs, strained tendons, and a twisted ankle, his magic told him in succinct order. Mel breathed deep, and called upon his contract once more. The spirit channeled through him and settled into Fenris' skin, healing the worst damage, but Mel was quickly running out of mana. With a curse, he focused on the elf's worst injuries, leaving the torn muscles and twisted ankle until Ari could look at them properly, since she was both a better Spirit Healer than he, and she had sense to bring lyrium potion along with her.

Still, what little he could do was enough to rouse Fenris though not enough to rally him. With a grunt of effort—the elf was surprisingly heavy—Mel pulled him over his shoulders and across his back, and after taking a quick second to scoop up Fenris' Blade of Mercy, he ran after the Wardens.


End file.
